Haakon then called out, making sure nobody was injured. Two warriors went to the periphery of the forest and kept watch. Jen and I came out and rejoined the rest of the party. Reaching them, I told Haakon what I knew, or believed I knew, about the beast.
“Not a difficult beast to fight when one is in the woods, but in the open, its sudden attack would be deadly. But this one is quite young,” he answered.
“How could you tell?” I asked, curious.
“The horns were not fully developed. See, still growing. New nubs could be seen,” the warrior pointed to the horns, not that I could really see the difference. “And for a dreki, it lacked something an adult would have—acid or venomous breath, flame, that sort of thing.”
“It’s a different culture so their dreki could be different,” I commented. At least he had an inkling they were fighting a species of dragon.
“As long as they don’t have the likes of Níðhöggr or Fafnir, I believe the problem is manageable,” he ventured nonchalantly.
I recognized the names. Níðhöggr was the name of the great dragon which gnawed at the roots of the Nordic world tree, the entity connecting all nine worlds, Midgard included. Fafnir was the name of the son of a dwarf king. The avaricious son was cursed into becoming a poison-breathing dragon because of his greed for gold. And here was Haakon, telling me such beings were real. And if they existed, then other unbelievably dangerous and spiteful creatures of Norse lore were also real.
Mythology is such a reality bitch, I decided.
***
After the mušḫuššu encounter, the party hurried west, through the shrubs and copses of the flat land. I didn’t think there was another large creature nearby, as the pressure I had sensed earlier was gone. Only the weak echoes of what I now believed to be energy signatures could be felt. The change surprised me. Before the beast showed up, I could swear they were getting stronger. The only explanation I could come up with was that most of the creatures in the area where we were going had left, and thankfully headed in the opposite direction.
After an hour, the resonances again began to increase in intensity and number. I was right. There must have been a portal ahead and new arrivals had just come in. I thought of telling Haakon about my ability, but eventually decided against it. They might not let me go and I didn’t want to be a bloodhound for their warbands for the rest of my life.
As we took one of our breaks, a scout came back with news. Haakon called us over.
“There’s a large encampment of flame jotnar ahead of us, about a mile and a half. You were right. There’s a shimmering portal in the middle of the site. We intend to enter those hills overlooking their camp and wait for our chance. I have no idea how to use their portal, but magic is magic. If I can observe the ritual they’re using, it can be utilized for our purposes. We’ll end up in Muspellheim if I am successful but it will be familiar ground. Everyone here had fought in that desolate world at least once,” the battle mage told me.
“So, I guess this is when we part?” I asked.
“You’ve steered us right, Eirikr. Our gratitude for the help. But wait here first,” Haakon added as he went to where their bags and packs were dumped. He got something and quickly walked back.
“Here. A short sword of Vanir make. Never let it be said that the House of Gimli failed to repay a favor,” he announced as a sheathed blade was offered to me.
“At least that would serve better than those excuses for kindling that you called spears,” laughed one of the warriors.
I gratefully accepted the sword and gave our thanks to everyone. They never did ask us about the firearms we carried, maybe because I had mentioned that the arms of Midgard didn’t work against the newcomers. It could also have been their confidence in their weapons. Midgard-made armaments clearly didn’t enjoy a high standing among them. Or the broken makeshift spears we had been carrying made them disregard everything we carried as not dangerous.
To some extent, I agreed with their observations. So far, only the crude gasoline bombs worked.
After saying our goodbyes, Jen and I set off to the north again, intending to bypass the jotnar encampment. We could have turned south and then west, but I feared that the energies I believed had left the camp were on their way to fight the Mesopotamian creatures in that region. That meant the battle for the town was not yet over. Haakon accompanied us for some distance and then waved me to his side.
“There is something in you, Eirikr. A sliver of ancient magic, perhaps. But one thing is sure. It is beyond my meager skills as a battle mage to determine. It is but a remnant, but it is of a dark and forbidding power. Nascent, yet it might be your undoing. I cannot judge you nor shall I ask how a man of Midgard came to be infected by such affliction,” Haakon suddenly said in a low voice. “But I also know you not to be of the dark so take heed; be careful to whom you reveal such a condition. Others might not be as understanding as I am. Fear makes men mad, as you very well know.”
He clapped me on the shoulder and walked back to his companions.
Afflicted? Infected? It’s a fucking disease?
13
Demon Bait
Jen and I made good time after we left the group. We made use of the few forest trails whenever we found them, but despite the scarcity of such trodden paths, our progress was relatively fast. Nothing disturbed us, though the absence of animal sounds later in the day was disturbing. Nor did we spot any animal, not even a solitary bird in the sky. Even Jen noticed it. But we pressed on though the eerie stillness followed us. Every step we took brought us closer to the city, and hopefully, a degree of safety.
My disconcerting anxiety about being able to create rifts had subsided, and considering the absence of another episode, I finally convinced myself that it was a nascent ability, awakened only by extreme stress or strong emotions. Not that I was going to practice creating such openings in the dimensional fabric.
At least Jen was still by my side, despite the dangers we had faced. I didn't think I could manage going on without her. I could be dense at times and her pragmatic outlook always brought me back. Call me blind, unrealistic, selfish, or even stupid, but hey, the world had gone to the shithouse. One needed something to live for. But don't tell her that, or I won't hear the end of it.
When evening came, we took to the trees once more. But I found I couldn't sleep. Nor could Jen. The startling stillness of our surroundings was starting to frighten us. We discussed the weird occurrence in whispered conversations but couldn't come up with an explanation. But once the discussion veered toward scarier possibilities, we both decided to stop talking about it; no point in terrifying ourselves some more. Eventually, exhaustion took its toll on Jen and she fell asleep, snoring all the while. I thought of waking her because of the sound, but decided against it. She was tired and needed the rest. I drew the short sword and kept vigil. Or tried to. I unwittingly fell asleep after several minutes of futile struggle to stay awake.
The morning after was more of the same—eating and walking. I didn't think we were making good time unlike the day before. More often than not, we found ourselves taking longer breaks. We were quickly getting tired. A stream enabled us to refill our water bottles and freshen up, but our pace remained the same.
Unexpectedly, we found a relatively clear path among the trees. Not that it was marked as such or even bore faint traces of being a trail. It was more a case of finding easy spots to walk through the thick woods.
Around late afternoon, we stumbled into a clearing. There was a ramshackle cabin in the middle and unbelievably, on its wooden porch was a middle-aged man dressed in jeans and a yellow polo shirt. He was sitting in a rocking chair, relaxed as could be as it moved slowly to and fro. His eyes were staring at where we entered the open field, and I got the strange sensation he was waiting for us. As we walked toward him, he didn't say a word but continued watching us. I knew something was off but was too tired to care. At least the guy looked human.
I hailed him and said my g
reetings in the friendliest tone I could manage. Our bedraggled appearance was not in our favor and probably merited a loaded shotgun pointed in our direction. But the man didn't say anything. His hand showed the way to an old bench on the wooden veranda.
As we thankfully sank into the seat, I finally got a good look at our host. He had black hair and a thin body. That was all I could be sure about. The face was something else. It was like trying to look through a clouded glass pane. You'd think he had angular facial lines and large eyes. A blink, and a different face would be staring at you.
Yet the being didn't exude fear, or he could be intentionally controlling his aura. At that point, I knew he wasn’t human. What I felt instead was a tinge of unadulterated malice held in check. I didn't know which was worse, the absence of fear in the air or the malice he radiated. The entity looked at us for a few minutes, giving us time to catch our breaths. Then he spoke.
If the changing facial features didn't convince me of his demonic nature, the voice did. It was like Lamashtu all over again, a normal tone and speech superimposed over something inhuman. Words were spoken with such guttural and unnatural sounds that it was apparent that this being was never meant to speak any mortal language. Each word ended with a slithering hiss or a freakish bark.
"Ashipu. The daughter of Anu seemed to take an undue interest in you. Curious."
Shit, I thought. Another Mesopotamian demon. The fact that language didn't pose a barrier was evidence enough. The foul entity need not even resort to incantations, amulets, or the usual trinkets and tricks of the trade. Magic from his dimension was already around us, though I already had a good idea of who he was. His mention of and interest in Lamashtu was a clear indication.
Part of my mind reflected that they'd learned to adjust as shown by the appearance he adopted. I decided to play it dumb and pressed Jan's side with my fingers. I hoped she'd keep quiet and not give anything away. Fortunately, she understood my motion.
"I am sorry, sir. But we got lost trying to escape."
The being stared at me for a while.
"A minor sorcerer then. The title is my Lord, not sir. Disappointing. An ashipu unfamiliar with ancient beings of true power. There is no escape, mortal; this world is already ours. But I am more concerned with the interest Lamashtu had shown with your useless self. Starting with another of her ploys, perhaps? With you as the unwitting tool?"
"I am afraid I don't understand, sir," I said. I forgot the my Lord part. Thankfully, the being let my mistake slide.
"You had a dream. A woman appeared."
Well, that that I couldn't deny, not without giving myself away.
"Yes, but it was but a dream. How did you know?"
"It is of no concern of yours. She escaped me. But that bitch would be back for you. I sense some power in you, and I believe that's what interests her. Here's my command, mortal. Should she show herself to you again, say my name, Pazuzu. Your magical energy will call and bring me to you. A trap to catch a bitch in heat, if you will. Do not fail me."
I didn’t know if it was unbridled arrogance, seeing us mortals as beneath him, or that his obsession with destroying his archnemesis had consumed his mind. But I guessed it was both. If it were me, I would definitely be interested in what drew my enemy's attention. But then again, who knew how these bastards thought?
Then something came to my mind which didn't like what the snake-oil demon salesman was saying; he wanted me to be embroiled in an ancient feud between two extremely powerful beings, an ancient grudge which had seen him fail at every opportunity to get rid of Lamashtu. Myth did mention that Pazuzu was more formidable than his arch-foe. But Lamashtu was still standing, a fact which didn't bode well for the chances of eliminating his fellow demon.
And before anybody says anything, I am using he and she as convenient terms, not as indications of sex. I don’t even think demons have genders. But I’ll use the initial appearance of the entities as my basis for using the words, though I don’t understand the partiality of these fiends to the human form. Invariably, each would have a favored form and sex. The terrifying tentacled, clawed, taloned, oozing, or amorphous shapes usually came in last in their list of preferences. Weird. They didn’t like the faces they were born with?
But the predicament before me meant I was on the dumb side of the Pazuzu-Lamashtu equation. And the bastard wanted me to be a focus of Lamashtu's angry and vengeful attention? I admit he had me cornered. If I said no, then it was a given Jen and I wouldn't be walking out of that house. If I agreed, an enraged major demon would come after me, and I didn't believe Lamashtu would stop at tearing me apart.
My belief in Pazuzu's ability to get rid of Lamashtu was not high. His dismal track record across the millennia was a strong point against him. Lore said he was more powerful than Lamashtu and I guess he didn’t lack opportunities to dispatch her. What does that mean? Simple. He was an arrogant and moronic prick. A pathetic example for his kind.
Unfortunately, I had to deal with our present circumstance - a choice of dying now or later. I chose later, though the nod I made was accompanied by an unsaid but fervent prayer for divine assistance. Religion was really never a regular part of my life, but right at that moment, I prayed as never before.
"Good. You understand your place," said the satisfied demon. Then Pazuzu unceremoniously disappeared, leaving behind a noxious stench of sulfur and decaying things which had died a long time ago. That rotten, rancid smell and the stress suddenly made me throw up. Jen held me and massaged my back as I heaved.
"We're in deep shit," I told Jen when I had recovered a little.
"You don’t say. Caught between a devil and a demoness," she replied with a strained chuckle.
"Jen, if and when we reach Great Falls, I think you should keep your distance from me. My situation is fast becoming dangerously complicated," I finally said. The rift thing was manageable in my opinion and didn't pose a threat to people close to me; the gate and farmhouse encounters showed that. The monsters didn't go for Jen, even as they avoided or refused to attack me. But the Pazuzu-Lamashtu situation was a significant and extremely deadly threat, not only to me but also for Jen. Either demon could also use her against me.
"Don't you dare go to that subject, Mr. Weber. We've survived together this far. Why should that thing worry us?" said Jen.
"He's a demon, Jen. A very powerful one. One of the two reasons why we had to leave that spot. Remember the night you woke me up? That entity and his ancient foe—you heard the name and please don’t mention either one—were fighting nearby. He caught his nemesis messing around my dream. It appeared that his opponent had been avoiding a confrontation for a long time."
"Your dream? Why would a demoness enter your dream?”
I explained everything, from my initial suspicions as to what happened to me since the ziggurat episode back in town, up to the Lamashtu dream. I would like to say she was immediately concerned about what was happening to me, but no dice. The fact that I kept my suspicions, observations, and experiences secret from her was way more significant for Jen. Let me have some dignity and leave it at that.
14
Three Blind Mice
After Jen had calmed down a bit, we checked out the house. She was still angry. I could tell by the way the drawers and the doors slammed as she made her way through the house. It was a two-bedroomed abandoned hunting cabin. Time had not been kind to it. Everything was broken down, canned items were rusting, and there were holes in the roof. It did offer some semblance of normalcy and one bedroom was undamaged enough for our purposes.
Nah. We didn't use the house. Too risky, as it was an open target. We again took to the trees. Odd, wasn't it, to be finding security in trees rather than in a man-made structure? A sign of the times, I thought.
We rested for the day, and the following morning, continued our way northward. It was strange but no dark beasts obstructed or even crossed our path. I had to climb up trees from time to time to get our bearings and check for dangers
. But this time, the way was clear. The woods were reassuringly noisy as ever. It was an unsettling, though welcome, change of pace.
On the second day, we came across an old hunting trail going north. We decided to keep to it as the path was relatively clear of obstructions. It even led to a brook which enabled us to refill our water supply. Then I saw a fallen electrical transmission tower. It was rusted and in pieces, but the sight reassured me. We must have been nearing the city or a town, I surmised.
Early afternoon saw us on a hill looking down on an asphalt street below. The narrow road was full of potholes and followed the curvature of the surrounding hills, ending in a bridge before it continued on its northern route on the other bank. It was clearly an old one, with low steel barriers as bridge rails. I didn’t know if it was an old logging road, a forgotten county backroad or bypass, but it clearly lacked maintenance.
We followed the direction of the road though we kept to the hills above it. The past several days had taught us to avoid open areas. A damned dreki could jump on us if we were not careful. Not only that, Norse lore was scanty on the kinds of jotnar, whether made of fire or ice. All it mentioned was that they were of diverse kinds, from those having mortal forms, to giant wolves, and fantastic and deadly creatures. Many of them had magical abilities too, with appetites to match.
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